Every Year, It's Not That Year

ＴＨＥ ＳＴＡＹＯＶＥＲ-•

2019

Saturday. When Stephanie was young, Saturday have always meant something significant to her. It's a big day, a holiday, a slacking day, a stay-at-home-and-daydream-slash-music-day.

Saturday means there's a breakfast full of junk food. Harsh brown, smoked beef and maybe French Toast if her mother is benevolent enough to let her indulge with. Or else, it would be congee with fried dough fritters. She love congee, but junk food always a sign of something different, something better.

Right now, Saturday still hold something significant to her. Her hair smells clean, perfumed with a dash of exotic rosemary and something more. After a round of barbecue dinner, there's no way Stephanie could pretend that her hair didn't smell like heavy duty kitchen.

This apartment has housed Stephanie for two years ever since she owned it, and it still feel surreal that she's able to afford one other than her Audi sedan, there's just something about the logo that makes Stephanie dive into that brand.

Biological clock is real, it's hard to pretend it doesn't, Stephanie has been waking up at six on her working days, but when it hit Saturday, her body tune itself to wake up when the sun is rising to it's peak, casting a perfect shade of balmy morning when she ended her slumber.

Once she clamber out of her king size latex mattress that is fit for a queen, Stephanie does her extraordinary Saturday morning routine by washing her face and slab on Aloe Vera gel on her face, tons and tons of it, she walks out of the room and first thing she observed is whether Park has fallen off from her couch.

It's a couch she made especially huge, huge enough for sleeping if Park ever had a sleepover.

Which happens so frequently that she isn't bothered by the fact that he's only wearing a boxer or when weather permits, he's simply sleeping shirtless, and that all became habitually typical that Stephanie hardly complains anymore.

This time, he is actually wearing a shirt, Stephanie watches through her peripheral as she headed towards her fridge. The gel on her skin made the gush of air especially awakening cold when she opens the refrigerator. She did a mental calculation of the time he slept last night, Park would have entitled to a straight seven hours of sleep, which, for a surgeon that's more than blessing.

She decided it is safe to create a havoc in her kitchen by switching on the coffee machine that grinds the beans.

Park heard the screeching drilling sound by an unidentified hostile personel, unconsciously, his fingers began to search for his mouse and keyboard.

But to no avail.

The drilling sounds continues to disturb his harmonious state of equilibrium, but the hopelessness renders him anxiety when he can't find his weapons, as his heart couldn't stand the traumas anymore, Park finally opens his eyes and absorb the familiar image of the white ceiling he would always wake up to.

The grinding continues, which irritates the hell out of him. He sat up to locate the sound only to see Stephanie standing behind the kitchen counter, hand on her waist, smirking at him. She's not wearing her glasses.

A huge sense of stupidity hits him. It's not once or twice where Stephanie decide to irritate the shit out of him whenever he had a sleepover.